


Legacy

by stunningepiphanies



Series: 1990-verse [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 09:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4955617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunningepiphanies/pseuds/stunningepiphanies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1965: Napoleon Solo has always been full of surprises, but this time it's without precedent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Legacy

**Author's Note:**

> And while I'm dragging my feet on chapter three of 1990, have another little drabble in-verse. This is the one son of Napoleon's mentioned in the first chapter.

It wasn't the most surprising thing, Illya considered, to find out that Solo had gotten some woman pregnant. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and he was sure there were more litte black-haired half-Americans running around all across the globe. He thought back to the one woman he'd taken up with in Milan, the fashion designer who he almost had to kick off the train on their way out of the country. And then there were all the repeat flight attendants on their transatlantic flights. The art dealer in Munich, too, though he hoped that woman stayed in the hospital room they'd left her in. 

Anyway, no. Solo being a father was not a surprise, it was an inevitability. The surprise, then, was him running off during a month long vacation when he was _supposed_ to be healing up from three stab wounds and marrying the mother of his child. Both of whom no one in U.N.C.L.E. had even known about. 

Okay, that wasn't exactly true. Waverly knew, but Illya suspected he hadn't found it out much sooner than everyone else. The Brit would never admit it though, he had an air of total control to maintain. And certainly, Napoleon Solo was testing the limits of that control. Limits, being two unexpected, brand new dependants to hide and finance with U.N.C.L.E.'s thin budget 

Illya held out the child at arms length, studying him as intensely as he'd study anything he found particularly suspicious. He certainly looked like Solo, but with babies you always could make a case for them looking like anyone. Honestly, he could say he looked a little like Stalin (and he did, if you squinted), didn't mean it meant anything. He was cute though, Illya had to admit it. Then again, he'd always had a weak spot for children and would've thought the same if the newest Solo were the ugliest child ever born. 

"He's a baby, Peril, not a time bomb." Solo swooped in without warning, scooping up his son away from a still unsettled Illya. Holding the baby now, he could see how clear the child looked like the American- through all the chubby baby features, of course. It was the eyes mostly, bright like Solo's, and more alert than other babies he'd met. But, of course, it could just be because he needed a diaper change. 

Solo made a face, and tried to pass the baby back to his partner. Illya, being a being with common sense, just held his hands up and leaned back into his end of the couch. "Not my baby, not my problem." 

Solo's face soured, but he took his son back like a moderately acceptable father. "Colleen knows where his things are anyway, I suppose it doesn't make much of a difference." He sighed, settling down into the other end of the couch. Illya wondered idly what his partner was going to do now that his chic, painfully modern bachelor pad was now baby stomping grounds. There were already sighs- a bottle warming on the stove, telltale spit up stains on the plush carpet, the oversized....what was it in English? Baby...cage?

No. That probably wasn't right. 

"Can you not change him?" Illya hardly believed Solo would actually subject them to that smell for any period of time if he didn't have a good reason. 

His friend waved the question away with is free hand, the other tucked around his son's chubby middle. The sight was, quite frankly, unsettling. Solo played himself as a man untouched by consequence, but here with a baby in his arms? Illya had to fight the urge to take the child back from him. There was no way he could safely watch over a child- it might swallow a stray diamond or something. Or possibly suffocate on cologne fumes. 

Solo didn't seem inconvenienced by his child, though, and even with a little spit up stain near his collar, he maintained an air of nonchalance. "Of course not, that's not my job. Besides," he sighed, tugging a shirtsleeve from the baby's mouth, "this suit was custom for the wedding. The shirt, I can sacrifice, but have you _seen_ this waistcoat?" 

He had. It was paisley and ostentatious. "Hm. You really are terrible person." 

Solo looked offended. "Is someone saying I'm not?" The boy shrieked then, and his father nodded in agreement. "Yes. My sentiments exactly.“

Illya barely had the self control to not roll his eyes."What is the boy's name, anyway?" He had no doubts it was something ridiculous, like Archibald or Ulysses. The man probably didn't even have the ability to try for something that wasn't painfully bourgeois. 

"We decided to keep with the theme of great world leaders," he sighed. "Meet Washington Alexander Solo." Baby Washington, for his part, shoved his fat little fist into his mouth and drooled. Poor child. He'd never be responsible with that sort of name. 

"Or, you could go with dictators who could not conquer Russia and call him Adolph."

His friend's face soured rapidly. "Well, now, was that really necessary?" He hadn't even noticed baby Washington swap his little fist for that nice, silk tie. Shame, it was about the only part of his outfit that wasn't embarrassing. 

"No," snorted the Russian, reaching for his forgotten tumbler of scotch, "funny though."

**Author's Note:**

> God help me, I forgot the word for "playpen" when I was writing this. And I'm not even ESL.


End file.
